


Switch in Habit

by jelly_pies



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Endgame Fix-It, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hair Ruffles! why is that not an ao3 tag, I mean this is an Irondad event so of course, Peter Parker is growing and maturing, Platonic Cuddling, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, and i wanted to show some of that in the Irondad relationship, maybe it's a well-used trope but it's well-used for a reason, not just as a genius superhero but as a person as well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:07:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21942640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jelly_pies/pseuds/jelly_pies
Summary: Tony Stark has a habit of ruffling Peter Parker’s hair. It’s become a kind of staple of his relationship with the kid.Maybe he hesitated at first, but over time, it got to feeling natural as anything. He ruffles Peter’s hair at victories in the lab. Runs his fingers through it briefly when checking for injuries. Gives him shoulder pats when he’s proud of the kid but can’t bring himself to say it out loud.And when Peter starts to disintegrate in his arms, one day on another planet, Tony embraces him. Or he tries to.
Relationships: Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 24
Kudos: 119
Collections: Iron Dad Secret Santa 2019





	Switch in Habit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [josywbu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/josywbu/gifts).



> Created for the prompts "sleepy cuddles," "hair," and (to a much lesser degree) "Iron Man suit." I know we didn't have to make it for all prompts but it was fun lol.

Tony Stark has a habit of ruffling Peter Parker’s hair. And he didn’t even know until Pepper told him.

He and Peter had piled together on the medical bay bed. Cho’s probably coming in any minute to chew his ears out about getting beds good for two if he’s always gonna climb into Peter’s anyway. But he doesn’t care. The kid’s sleeping, leaning his head on Tony’s shoulder, Tony’s arm wedged between Peter’s body and the pillows and it’s starting to get numb but he doesn’t care. He’s got his own bruising headache and a leg that feels like the med team’s gonna have to look at it too, but he doesn’t care, because Peter’s here and he’s alive. He’s reckless, and impulsive, and they’re gonna have a conversation about how that works with trigger-happy maniacs and modified alien bombs in the mix, toot suite. But he’s alive.

Tony settles his hand over Peter’s head and closes his eyes, letting that thought wash over him, over the white noise of the television in the corner and the buzzing in his ears. Because what on earth would he do, if his kid didn’t come back alive.

“You playing with my hair?”

Tony blinks out of his drowsiness. “What?”

Peter yawns, rolls over to nestle against Tony’s chest. He’s pumped full of meds, Tony knows, more than the usual because his healing factor always burns it up like paper. Drugs to ease the pain, to help him sleep, to allow Tony to hold him this way without worrying about what the kid might think about it the next morning.

“Dad used to do that too.”

Okay, whatever he had been expecting the medically affected drowsy kid to say… it wasn’t that. Tony opens his mouth but can only gape like a fish for several seconds. And then, “Sorry.” What else was he supposed to say? Peter never talked about his parents. At least not to him.

“I’s ‘kay.” Tony’s shirt muffles Peter’s mumble. “Dunno what it is. Ben too. But May’s more of a hugger.”

“I’ve noticed.” Tony wonders how much of this the kid will remember when he wakes up.

“Kinda missed it.”

Tony stares at his hand, laying where he’d placed it, flat on top of Peter’s head. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Peter yawns.

 _Well then. Who cares what you’ll think about it after the drugs have worn off._ As soon as Peter closes his eyes, Tony curls his fingers and cards them through the kid’s hair.

Pepper finds them a couple of hours later. Snuggled together, asleep. She'd come in a rush – mission, injury, emergency call from Cho and all that – but she lets out a breath as soon as she steps through the door. Peter has his head buried in the crook of Tony's arm, face void of tension or pain or anything that fits with the picture of his bandages and bruised cheeks. He might as well be napping. And Tony – is snoring. Snoring, and Pepper leans in just to check, because Tony-lives-on-coffee-Stark is currently performing a feat she's only witnessed a grand total of two times in all their years sharing a bed. Arms open, relaxed, one slung around the shoulders of his intern.

His intern, right, Pepper sniffs, fluffing the pillow they share. Just his intern, like Happy was just his bodyguard. And she was just his PA.

She presses a quick kiss to Tony's hair and leaves the room quietly. Looking this peaceful, Pepper figures she could leave the duo alone for a couple more hours. And maybe see to getting them a bigger bed.

Another thing Pepper finds out that day: Tony Stark has a habit of ruffling Peter Parker’s hair. And it started on that hospital bed.

* * *

"Perfect!"

Peter gawks down at his webshooters like they're the Mona Lisa. He has them on his wrists in a second, shoots a quick one at the wall.

"Hundred and twelve percent faster than the last one," he breathes. "Boom."

"Rhodey rubbing off on you?" In his peripheral he can see Mr. Stark grin as he ducks out from under an Iron Man suit ruined on a previous mission, hanging from a frame on the lab roof.

"It just sounds cool. Boom." Peter holds his wrists up to the light, studying his creation. His own creation.

Mr. Stark walks over. "Not bad, Jimmy Neutron, and you barely needed my help with this one."

"You know it. I'm only really here for your high-tech toys anyway," Peter teases, unable to keep a grin off his face at his accomplishment. And the fact that he did it mostly by himself this time. And that Tony freaking built-Iron-Man-in-a-cave Stark, freaking complimented him, because sometimes the eager fanboy still surfaces, even after several months with his mentor.

Said mentor puts on an offended face. He’s got a lot of those. "Great. I'll just leave then, if it's more convenient."

Peter laughs, eyes still shining. "No, but seriously, Mr. Stark, thank you. Look, here, I wouldn't have been able to get the speed up without that new spring you designed, and under here—" Peter know he’s rambling. But he also knows he’s with one of the few people in his life who don’t mind. Mr. Stark is still studying the shooters; he’s got his engineer face on. Peter knows a lot of his faces. And he hasn’t put on his annoyed one yet, not for one second. He must have been going on for hours now. "... handle heavier loads. Seriously, so cool, I'm freaking out." Peter finishes in a huff, bending his head to take the shooters off.

Mr. Stark hums. "More of this and you'll need a bigger place to test it out."

"Oh, no, it's okay, I'm not planning on lifting trucks anytime soon, maybe I got a little ahead of myself there. Just – really proud of myself. Of, of this model." Peter beams, then frowns at his wrists. "Shit, it's stuck."

Mr. Stark chuckles as he reaches for Peter's hands. "Come here, you dummy."

“I’m Peter, DUM-E’s over there.” The robot beeps in interest from the corner. His creator sniffs.

They get it off, finally, and Peter laughs in relief, Mr. Stark raises his hands in victory. Peter still has his head down when he feels a hand on his hair. Light, and fleeting. When he looks back up Mr. Stark's arm is back at his side. And the look on his face is one that Peter doesn’t see very often. But like his hand, it’s light, and fleeting.

Mr. Stark clears his throat. "I mean it, though. What I – what I said. Before. Say the word and you got a whole floor to yourself."

Peter shakes his head, clears his thoughts, and when the full weight of what his mentor said settles in his stomach, he feels his eyes go wide. "Stark Tower?"

"No, the Empire State Building, what did you think. Of course the Tower."

"You trying to get rid of me, Mr. Stark, giving me my own room?"

"Like that could get rid of you. I just figured, growing bird, own nest."

"Will I have to housekeep?"

Mr. Stark barks out a laugh. "Leave it to you to worry about cleaning up a billionaire's R&D space, Spider-boy."

"Huh." Peter still can’t keep the awe out of his voice. "All this over some webshooters?"

Mr. Stark blows out a breath. "It's... it's been coming up for a while, actually. Don’t tell anyone yet. But Pepper wants a house away from the city. On a, uh, semi-permanent arrangement, we'll, we'll still have to see. Anyway. I got Rhodey part-time at the compound, but I want someone back here... someone I can trust. At the Tower."

Peter blinks, hard, feeling his head reeling from the information. Mr. Stark settling down. Mr. Stark moving away. Mr. Stark asking him. "And you – you think... me?"

Mr. Stark shrugs. "Somebody's gotta keep DUM-E company, and I think he'd prefer someone he already knows." DUM-E beeps excitedly for the second time that conversation.

Slowly, Peter smiles, and he can almost hear Mr. Stark exhaling, as if relieved at how he took it. Peter still feels the hand on his head, the memories that little action dug up. Little moments, tucked away. And this would be one of them "Thanks, Mr. Stark... really. I'll, uh, think about it."

"Okay," bluntly, but satisfied. Mr. Stark turns back to his side of the lab, his normal, banter-ready face back on. "You're starting to take up too much space here anyway. You need the independence, kid.”

"I'll always need you, Mr. Stark."

Mr. Stark actually looks back at that. Peter twists away to hide his reddening cheeks, so fast he gives himself whiplash. What on earth even drove that to cross his lips. _Did I cross a line did I cross a line did I cross a—_

But Mr. Stark doesn't say anything. After a second he calmly walks back to the Iron Man suit, and maybe out of the corner of Peter's eyes he sees his mentor quirk a quick smile, or maybe he doesn't. The companionable silence settles back soon enough, easy and comfortable, and Peter turns back to his shooters on the table, slowly blowing out a long breath. A level at Stark Tower. _Holy shit._

After a few seconds, Peter’s heightened senses tell him Mr. Stark still hasn’t taken his eyes off him, even now that he’s standing behind his hanging suit. Keeping his head down, Peter steals a glance at his mentor’s reflection on the shiny lab counter. Maybe it’s just the light on the metal, but the look on Mr. Stark’s face is one Peter thinks he hasn’t seen before.

The shooter’s mechanisms whirring. DUM-E beeping. A whisper on the wind. “No you won’t, kid.”

Peter’s sure he never would have caught that without his enhanced hearing. He doesn’t know if he was even meant to hear it, but he can’t help himself – he looks up.

By the time he’s turned around, Mr. Stark has his head buried back in his busted suit.

* * *

Tony Stark has a habit of ruffling Peter Parker’s hair.

It’s become a kind of staple of his relationship with the kid. One of the Things-They-Did™, like tinkering with Spider-Man suits, or drafting ideas to improve the SI internship program, or Star Wars marathons after particularly trying missions, or saying something to Pepper's face before mouthing something completely contradictory behind her back and seeing how long they could go without her catching them. One of the things he couldn't do without immediately associating the action with his mentee.

Maybe he hesitated at first, but over time, it got to feeling natural as anything. He ruffles Peter’s hair at victories in the lab. Runs his fingers through it briefly when checking for injuries. Gives him shoulder pats when he’s proud of the kid but can’t bring himself to say it out loud.

And when Peter starts to disintegrate in his arms, one day on another planet, Tony embraces him. Or he tries to.

A month later, he gets back home, or what’s left of it. Rhodey finds him staring at the wall one day, hand moving in circles on a pillow on his lap. Fingers searching for a curly brown head that’s no longer there.

A year later, he gets a second chance, one he’s determined to hold on to. And so he kisses the top of little Morgan Stark’s head every chance he gets. Brushes her hair back from her face. Says it out loud this time, “I love you tons.”

Three years later, she starts asking questions. And so he lifts her on his lap, runs his fingers through her hair as he tells her stories. It becomes a bedtime tradition. But Tony isn’t sure if it makes Peter seem more alive or more dead every time.

Five years later, he gets his first kid back. Young and lively as ever, and as he hugs him on that battlefield, kisses his cheek the way he’s used to kissing Morgan’s, cards his fingers through his hair the way he never does with anybody else – Tony feels like he could take on a hundred Titans.

And then Tony falls. Immobilized, unable to even reach out to the kid as Peter apologizes. Fucking _apologizes._ He wants to say a thousand things. Wants to tell him his floor at the Tower is still waiting for him. Wants to hug the kid, reassure him over and over and over again. Run his hand over his hair. One last time.

* * *

Peter never liked hospitals. Hospitals were emergencies and vomiting. Hospitals were that one dark, dark night with Ben. Hospitals were missions gone wrong.

Hospitals were beeping machines that held Mr. Stark’s life in the balance. Hospitals were sleepless nights with Miss— with Pepper, and Colonel Rhodes and Happy and May. Hospitals were the Cradle and Extremis modifications and medical terms that Peter felt he should probably care about more, but could never bring himself to dwell on further than the question of what they could do for Mr. Stark. Hospitals were weird-tasting coffee (he’d gone through every flavor) and boring TV shows (he’d gone through every channel) and hope that rose and fell like the pattern of Mr. Stark’s heartbeat. He’d gone through every soar and dive.

So when Peter takes the watch that night – Colonel Rhodes had lightly dubbed it “Tony-sitting” – he sucks it up like any other all-nighter. When the monitors start blinking, he stares like he never knew they could perform such a feat. When Mr. Stark wakes up, it’s only to see Peter gaping, eyes like saucers. And the first thing the man does, after weeks of unconsciousness on that damn hospital bed, is laugh.

Peter’s not sure how much he remembers of the rest of that night. But he’s pretty sure he still had the presence of mind, thank God, to call Pepper. He’s pretty sure he had a fit of rambling, and something close to a nervous breakdown. He’s pretty sure Mr. Stark beckoned him to his bedside at one point, and held him. Hand on Peter’s hair, the way he used to do before. He’s pretty sure he cried on Mr. Stark’s shoulder.

The following days he’s a smidge more composed. More light, because God knows Mr. Stark has enough heavy things on his mind at the moment. More banter-y. More, “What’s all that gray in your hair.”

“It’s just gray hair. Don’t laugh, Pepper likes it.”

"So, Morgan or me?"

"What?"

"You either get gray hair from stress, or grief, or old age, and you'll never admit to that third one so I’ll just cut to the chase. Stress or grief, then, over the last five years. Morgan or me."

"You can get gray hair other ways, Underoos."

"Just answer the question."

“What makes you think she’s stress?"

"I love her, Sir, but please. Have you _seen_ your daughter after she’s had more than two juice pops in a row?"

"Fair point. Then what makes you think you're grief?"

"Pepper showed me the picture in your kitchen, Mr. Stark."

"Half of humanity vanished, in case you hadn’t noticed. I mourned a lot of people, Mr. Parker."

"Yeah, hugged a lot of them on the battlefield, too."

That earns Peter a swat. And the first actual grin he’d seen from his injured mentor in weeks.

Other days were too heavy for banter. Other days were questions dug up from the bottom of Peter’s chest and talks that feel like therapy sessions. Other days were conversations about the floor at the Tower that still waited for him, and Peter’s request to open it back up for the Avengers to use. Other days were teary confessions of hurt and of apologies that never happened, some Avengers’ names spoken almost like swear words, Peter’s reconciliatory efforts. More often than not, these other days end with Peter piled on Mr. Stark’s hospital bed, both of them asleep, Mr. Stark’s fingers still tangled in Peter’s hair.

One day they settle it all. One day Iron Man officially retires. One day Peter runs his hand over Mr. Stark’s hair as a joke, a grin on his face, a way to “get back.” Tony puts on the look Peter’s only seen once before – back in the lab, in a counter’s reflection. Long ago.

“I don’t mind.” Peter’s fingers are still in the older man’s hair, Tony’s eyebrows and smirk still set in that way he does when he wants to make Peter think he’s annoyed, but his eyes tell a whole other story.

“What?”

“This.”

“The hair thing? That’s – I meant that as a joke,” Peter stutters.

“I know.” Tony smiles softly. “The whole thing. Sometimes I think you must have grown up in those five years after all.”

“If this is about me talking you into accepting the others’ apologies—”

“This is about you, teaching me.”

Peter perches on the edge of the bed, fiddling with his hoodie zipper. “Teaching you?”

Tony shrugs. “You’ve always been teaching me. If you don’t see that by now, it’s high time I told you.”

Peter is silent, but his eyes never leave his mentor’s.

“Kids grow up,” Tony continues. “And you – I’ll always think of you, in some capacity, as my kid, Peter. But these last few weeks – God, Pete. Do you know how much I could have saved on therapy if you’d been around sooner?”

Peter blows out a laugh. “I’m not planning on being your therapist, Mr. Stark.”

“That’s not what I’m saying, _Mr. Parker_.” At his pointed look, Peter frowns.

“Then what… Tony?”

“I’m saying… I’m not good at saying. God. I hire people for this.” Tony shakes his head when a sudden thought seems to light his expression. He reaches up. And ruffles Peter’s hair. “I’m saying. If – if this is a thing mentors do. Then I don’t mind when you do it sometimes.”

Peter cocks his head to the side. “I’m imagining myself doing it with like, with a teacher. It’s weird.”

Tony chuckles, his tone growing soft. “Can you imagine yourself doing it with a father-figure?”

Pepper finds them a couple of hours later. Snuggled together, asleep. Tony's head lolling against Peter's shoulder, his chest rising and falling more regularly, more peacefully than Pepper’s seen in years. Peter's cheek resting on Tony's hair. The bed's barely big enough for them both, but she can arrange something with Helen, she smiles as she pulls the blanket up further to cover both her boys. Peter stirs a little but doesn't wake up. He'd fallen asleep with a smile on his face.

Tony Stark has a habit of ruffling Peter Parker’s hair.

And, although it started as a joke, now Peter Parker has a habit of ruffling his.

**Author's Note:**

> The ending came to me in a rush, I hope it's not, you know, weird. If you want, let a new writer know what you think, please :)
> 
> Happy Irondad holidays, one and all! Special shoutout to josywbu, their work is awesome, go read.


End file.
